


h2o: just add love

by cllarkes



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coach Bellamy Blake, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirting, I'll probably add more tags later, Jealousy, Slow Burn, Swim Team, Swimmer Clarke Griffin, bellamy's a grad student, except it's like the playful vanilla type of enemies, i'm a little mean to echo in this fic, nothing too serious, so don't read if you're not into that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cllarkes/pseuds/cllarkes
Summary: Clarke Griffin thought that she was done with competitive swimming, but when her friend Raven persuades her to join Polis University's club swim team, she decides to give it another shot.There's just one problem - the coach. Bellamy Blake, who she loves to hate and hates to love, is exactly her type.or, a totally-not-self-indulgent-at-all bellarke college swim team au!
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Reliving my swim team days? And inserting Bellarke into it? It's more likely than you think!
> 
> As you probably know, I am part of the t100 Fic for BLM Initiative. You can learn more about us [here!](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/) This fic wasn't prompted as part of that initiative, but you CAN donate to prompt a quicker update to this fic if you end up loving Chapter 1 that much and need more right away :')
> 
> Title inspired by H2O: Just Add Water but uhhhh other than the title, nothing in this fic is related to that show
> 
> Enjoy!

Simply put, Clarke Griffin’s family was the definition of a swim team family.

Jake Griffin was once one of the top men’s college swimmers in the nation, shattering Polis University’s records over and over again and leaving the next generations struggling to catch up. Once he had graduated, Jake decided to retire from swimming to work as an engineer and focus on family - but that didn’t mean he couldn’t devote some of his free time to help coach the local Pine Ridge Swim and Racquet Club’s summer swim team.

Clarke started taking swim lessons as soon as she was old enough, and even before that, her dad used to hold on to her arms and train her chubby little legs to kick with all their might in the family’s backyard pool. She joined the Pine Ridge Paradise Fish swim team when it became clear that she was ahead of all the other little kids in her swim class, and she quickly became one of the league’s best.

It was strange, everyone thought, that a girl with such a competitive nature didn’t want to sign up for as many private lessons as the rest of the team’s best, or join a year-round swim team where she would be watched closely by college recruiters who would ensure that she followed in her father’s footsteps. But, even as Clarke racked up first place ribbon after ribbon each weekend, she was never interested in having her entire life revolve around swimming and insisted that for the rest of the year, she just wanted to be a normal kid.

Her little sister, Madi, was a different story. Like Clarke, their parents had made sure to sign her up for lessons and she was learning to swim in the Griffins’ pool before she could even walk or talk. Like Clarke, she brought home first place ribbons every single weekend. Unlike Clarke, she joined a year-round team, where she quickly became a star. While Clarke preferred to spend her weekends hanging out with the neighborhood kids and slacking off on her homework, Madi would be up at the crack of dawn, ready to head out to an early morning practice or compete at some fancy invitational.

Abby Griffin was the only member of the family who preferred to spend more time on land than in the water, lounging under the Southern California sun and reading medical journals while her husband and daughters splashed around the pool. Still, for a month and a half every summer, she could be found at the Club each Saturday morning, chatting with the other team moms and cheering loudly for her daughters when it was time for them to swim.

Clarke joined her high school’s swim team, mainly to get out of taking two years of Phys Ed, and was quite successful there as well - but she still insisted that college swimming wasn’t for her, and threw in the towel after her senior year State Championships. 

Once she got to Polis University, Clarke’s focus shifted entirely to her Pre-Med track. She spent most of her time in lectures or at the library, opting to join some of the University’s Pre-Med organizations and volunteering at the University Medical Center a few hours each week. She did miss swimming, but figured that her studies were more important than drilling her butterfly technique and stressing about her times. It paid off, and Clarke came out of her first year with a perfect GPA and a stellar reputation.

Competitive swimming seemed like a thing of the past at that point, a memory from her childhood that she’d always fondly remember. She knew she’d happily join her family at the pool that summer to cheer for Madi and the rest of her ex-teammates, but the days of putting on her silicone cap and too-tight goggles seemed like they were gone for good.

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


Halfway through the summer before Clarke’s second year of college, on a warm July evening just a week after the league championships, the seemingly healthy Jake Griffin dies of a heart attack and leaves Clarke and her family in shambles.

As the entire league mourns the loss of a beloved swim coach, Madi spends even more time than usual at her year round team’s pool, signing up for every team bonding event and getting more private lessons than she needs, while Abby eagerly picks up every available shift at the hospital - both of them itching to get out of the house and distract themselves from the horrible loss they’ve just experienced.

Clarke tries that strategy, too - she’s taking a few summer classes, and drives back to campus three times a week to attend her lectures and labs. The rigorous classes help her to keep her mind off of her father, but not in a good way. When she finishes studying for the day, she finds herself more stressed and on edge than she’s ever felt before. She falls into a robotic routine of waking up, driving to school, studying, and then laying in her bed and staring at the ceiling, disinterested in doing anything else that once brought her joy. She forgets to eat lunch more often than not, her favorite sketchbook sits untouched on her desk, and she doesn’t even try to reach out to her few friends from high school that are still around. She desperately wants to talk to someone who will understand exactly what she’s going through, but her mother and sister pointedly avoid the topic every time she tries to bring it up, and she refuses to unload her deepest thoughts and feelings on some random therapist. 

She can feel herself becoming a sad shadow of who she once was, and she doesn’t have the energy to stop it.

 _This isn’t going to work_ , she tells herself at the end of the summer, as she packs her bags and prepares to move back onto campus. She’s ending the summer term with perfectly decent grades, especially considering the circumstances, but when it comes to mental health, she can feel herself slipping. If she wants to keep herself from going down a darker path, she knows she’ll have to find something to help her relax and release all that pent up sadness and frustration inside her, and fast.

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


A week and a half into the fall semester, Clarke already feels like dropping out.

The two hour long Organic Chemistry lecture she just sat through was grueling, and all she wants to do now is grab a much-needed snack and retreat to her apartment for a long nap. A nap that she knows she shouldn’t be taking with all the reading she has to do for tomorrow, but a nap she desperately needs.

She pushes open the heavy double doors of the Chemistry building and is greeted by a gust of hot air. Groaning, she shrugs off the light cardigan she wore to survive the building’s relentless air conditioning, and starts making her way across the lawn and towards the campus market. 

She’s halfway there when someone catches her eye and makes her stop in her tracks.

It’s a girl with a dark brown ponytail, laying on a blanket in the grass, clearly immersed in the book she’s reading. It’s someone she hasn’t seen since she was in middle school, but she recognizes her nonetheless.

_“Raven?”_

The girl looks up, and it’s undeniably Raven Reyes, in the flesh. Raven closes her and squints at her for a second before breaking into a smile. “Oh my god, Clarke! Since when do you go here?” she asks, patting the ground next to her.

Clarke sits down beside her, resisting the very real temptation to curl up on the soft blanket and fall asleep under the warm sun. She and Raven were friends once, years ago when the Reyes family still lived in Clarke’s neighborhood and Raven was part of the Pine Ridge swim team. When they were in middle school, Raven’s parents had gotten divorced and she and her dad had moved up north to Bakersfield, and Clarke hadn't seen her since.

“It’s my second year,” she answers, wondering why she hasn’t seen Raven on campus before. Sure, there are over 20,000 students on campus, but she figures they would have crossed paths at the dining hall or at the library..

“Mine too,” says Raven, sitting up and taking a sip from her water bottle. “I spent most of last year around the Engineering building and at the pool, though, so I’m not surprised that we never ran into each other.”

 _The pool._ Looks like swimming is - or was - still a big part of Raven’s life. That’s one thing they no longer have in common.

“How’s your family?” Raven asks, drawing her out of her thoughts.

She grimaces. Raven had known her family pretty well, so she might as well tell her the whole truth. “My mom and sister are fine, I guess, but my dad… he got a heart attack over the summer, and he… he didn’t make it.”

Raven's face falls, and she places a comforting hand on Clarke’s forearm. “God, Clarke, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she mutters, desperately wanting to talk about something else. “You said you spent a lot of last year at the pool. Do you go there to work out?” 

Raven’s whole face lights up. “Yeah, I do, but it’s not just that. I joined the club swim team here and I love it! It’s really chill, and we’re like a family, and we have socials almost every week, and—” She cuts off suddenly, eyes widening as she looks Clarke in the eyes. “Hey! You should join!”

Clarke snorts. “I don’t think so, Raven. My swimming days are over, Plus, I’m pre-med, and I just know orgo is gonna kill me this year,” she groans.

Raven scoffs. “Clarke. My major’s Mechanical Engineering. If I can do it, so can you. You don’t even have to go to all the practices and meets - just sign up for whatever fits your schedule.”

“I don’t know…”

Raven grabs her hand and leans towards her. “Come onnnnn Clarke, I promise you that it’s super chill. I mean, some people are kinda competitive, I know I am, but we have swimmers of all skill levels and some people just go to make some friends and get a good workout. You can quit anytime you want, but I promise you, you’ll love it. Just check it out, ok?”

She sighs. Raven’s certainly making it sound fun, but she still doesn’t know. She’s always associated swimming with her dad, and now that he’s gone… well, she knows it won’t feel the same.

Still, Raven looks so hopeful, and maybe she does need something other than school in her life.

She nods. “Ok. I’ll check it out. But I’m not making any promises.”

Raven looks like she could hug her. “Great! Let’s swap numbers and I’ll text you the info. Registration’s open and our first practice is on Monday.”

Clarke swaps her phone with Raven’s and types in her number. Even if this swimming thing doesn’t go anywhere, she figures it’ll be nice to have a friend from her past to text when she’s bored and needs someone to hang out.

“I promise I won’t nag you about it,” says Raven as they hand each others’ phones back. “And it’s up to you, but I hope I’ll see you on Monday night. And even if I don’t, I’m always down to grab lunch!”

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


Raven doesn’t pester her anymore after that - she just sends Clarke one link to the swim team’s website, a link that Clarke doesn’t even open until the Saturday night before the first practice. 

A large part of her doesn’t want anything to do with swimming anymore. She was perfectly fine without it last year, and now that her father is gone, being reminded of him every time she dives into the pool won’t help her get over it any faster.

 _But_ , a little voice in her head says as she sits at her desk, hunched over her Orgo textbook, _is this helping you get over it?_

No, it’s not, at least not in a good way. She’s never been the best at opening up and talking to just anyone about her emotions - she gets that from her mom, and her sister is the exact same way. Strangely enough, those two are the only people she actually wants to talk to about Jake and her grief, and they’ve made it clear that, at least for now, that’s a topic they want to stay away from. So, she’s left alone with only her textbooks and notebooks and homework assignments to keep her company, and while those may distract her, they don’t help her deal with her grief in a way that benefits her.

She thinks back to her swim practices, both in high school and at Pine Ridge. When she was racing against others, she was focused on one thing and one thing only - winning. When she was at practice, though, she would enter a serene headspace the moment she dunked her head under water. She’d move her arms and legs from muscle memory while completely lost in thought - in those moments, it was just her, and the silence under the water. It was an escape.

Raven had mentioned, multiple times, that the club team isn’t a stressful environment in the slightest. Clarke won’t even have to tire herself out or go as fast as she knows she can - she can just hide out in the slow lane for all of practice, let herself get lost in her thoughts without worrying about keeping up with anyone or keeping track of the intervals the coaches call out. It’ll be a structured workout, but nobody will yell at her for slacking off every now and then. And if she has too much reading, or an assignment due at midnight, or a tough exam she has to cram for, she won’t even have to show up.

Plus, she could use some friends - she has a few acquaintances from the pre-med clubs she had joined last year, but they’re just that: acquaintances. They’re fun enough to hang out with at socials and fundraisers and will gladly join her at the library for late night study sessions, but they’re also the kind of friends who see everything as a competition. They never celebrate Clarke’s accomplishments and constantly try to one-up her, because at the end of the day, she’s just someone else they have to compete against in their journey to get into a top medical program. They had barely reached out to her over the summer besides sending a few dry “Sorry about your dad :('' texts, and Clarke isn’t exactly dying to hang out with them again.

If Raven’s still as much of a social butterfly as she was in her youth, she’ll probably have tons of friends on the team to introduce Clarke to. Even if they are the more competitive type, she doubts they’ll be hostile to her as long as they don’t see her as a threat to their success. There’ll be plenty of opportunities to make friends at practice, at team bonding events, even while waiting for her races at meets.

And if joining the team ends up not helping her at all? Like Raven said, she can always quit with no hard feelings.

She opens up Raven’s texts on her laptop and clicks the link. Right away, she’s led to a page with a slideshow of the team’s photos. Clarke sees people diving in with impressively perfect technique, goofy pictures of the group at the beach, and plenty of photos of people holding up their plastic medals and trophies.

 _They look happy_ , she thinks to herself, _and it looks like they all get along_. Back at Pine Ridge, some people on her team - mainly the parents - could get a little cliquey. Clarke and her family were always part of the in-crowd due to her father’s position and how fast both the Griffin daughters were, but she had heard enough gossip to know that certain groups of parents and their kids had often felt left out. Obviously a few photos on a website can’t tell the whole story, but based on the smiles on everyone’s faces in their official team photo and how much Raven emphasized that the team is like a family, she’s not getting an exclusive vibe.

She scrolls down to the big button that says ‘Register HERE’ and fills in her information, taking a deep breath before she submits.

The Griffin’s house is only forty-five minutes away from campus, so she’ll swing by and grab a few of her old swimsuits, caps, and goggles tomorrow. 

And, that Monday, Clarke Griffin will officially make her return to swimming.

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


To nobody’s surprise, neither her mother nor her sister are home when she pulls up to the Griffin home the next afternoon. 

She helps herself to some of the chicken fettuccine her mother had left in the fridge for her, and then makes the trip upstairs to her room.

_Crap, she doesn’t even remember which drawer her swimsuits are in._

She empties all the drawers of her dresser, checks the boxes under her bed, and has to borrow a step-stool to check the top shelf of her closet, but her swim gear is still nowhere to be found. 

She sighs. If they’re not in her bedroom, there’s only one other place she knows she needs to check.

Her dad’s old office.

The office has the second-largest closet in the whole house, and after Jake’s suits and coats that used to reside there had been donated to charity, Abby had repurposed it into the Griffins’ official storage closet. It was now home to Clarke’s prom dress, a few tutus from Madi’s short-lived ballet phase, ribbons and trophies that aren’t impressive or aesthetically pleasing enough to keep on the girls bedroom shelves, and now Clarke’s old Jolyns, apparently.

Clarke understandably tries to avoid the office as much as possible, but she knows she’ll have to brave it now. She tentatively pushes open the room’s double doors and deliberately averts her eyes from the family photos hanging on the wall and her dad’s desk as she makes a beeline for the closet.

She doesn’t have to look very hard. She immediately spots a box labelled ‘Old swimsuits’ which she quickly grabs and takes back to her bedroom.

She sifts through the suits and caps, most of which she’s probably outgrown, and picks a few of her favorites - three one-pieces, two pairs of goggles, and four caps. Satisfied, she stuffs them into her backpack and gets ready to leave.

As she drives through her neighborhood, she subconsciously finds herself taking a different route than normal - one that passes by the Pine Ridge Swim & Racquet Club - and before she knows it, she’s turning into the parking lot.

She walks through the opened gates, waving to the high schoolers working at the front office and a few other families she recognizes. The sounds of kids playing and water splashing brings back memories of the countless summer days she spent here, playing Marco Polo with her friends and begging her mom for ice cream money.

She makes her way to a quieter area near tennis courts. The Pine Ridge community had set up a small memorial for Jake - they’d placed a portrait of him on an easel near the flowerbeds, and had made a scrapbook full of photographs from Jake’s coaching career and kind words that Pine Ridge families and alumni had written about him (a second version of the scrapbook had gone home with the Griffins). Her favorite part of the memorial, though, is a personalized garden rock that lays in the flowers and reads: 

_In loving memory of Jacob ‘Jake’ Griffin._

_Beloved father, husband, and mentor._

_1971 - 2020_

Below the text is an etched-in sketch of her father - a copy of a drawing that Clarke gave him for his birthday one year.

She sits down on the garden bench and opens up the scrapbook, flipping through the pages until she lands on her favorite one.

There’s a photo of her father with his arms around his two daughters, taken at the league championships a few years ago, with a quote from him underneath: _“Being able to pass on my love and passion for swimming to my two daughters and watching them succeed has been the best part of being a coach and a dad.”_

She stares at her father’s warm smile, and then finds her eyes drifting to the one of the young girls at his side: her, at 11 years old, chlorine bleached hair wild around her shoulders, eyes full of youthful energy, and the biggest smile on her face.

Her father would want her to be that happy again.

“I’ll smile like that again one day, dad,” Clarke whispers, hoping her father can somehow hear her from wherever he is. “I promise.”

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


The smell of chlorine assaults Clarke’s lungs as she and Raven step out of the locker room and onto the deck of Polis University’s outdoor pool.

It’s a few minutes before seven, the sky is a beautiful mix of oranges and purples, and the warm wind blows through her ponytail. There’s a few people already in the pool, some lazily warming up and others hanging on the lane lines as they catch up. Someone brought out a speaker, and Clarke can faintly hear some upbeat Ariana Grande song over the excited chatter of the other swimmers. The air is buzzing with energy, and she can feel the excitement of the new season building.

She follows Raven as the other girl leads her to a group at the edge of the bleachers, all the way near the coach’s tents.

“Raven!” 

A blonde girl runs over and throws her arms around Raven, who eagerly hugs her back, giggling as the other girl tries to lift her off the ground. They separate after a long moment, and Raven turns to introduce Clarke.

“This is Clarke. We used to be on the same summer team before I moved to Bakersfield. Clarke, this is Harper.”

“Nice to meet you!” says Harper, giving her a warm smile before turning back to Raven. “We gotta introduce her to the rest of the gang.”

Harper pulls her over to two boys who are hunched over a phone, sharing a pair of headphones, clearly in their own little world. She tries and fails to get their attention, until the one who she introduces as her boyfriend Monty looks up and gives Clarke an awkward smile and a wave. The other boy - Jasper - doesn’t even look up.

  
“Don’t worry, they’re always like that,” Harper rolls her eyes, “sometimes I feel like I’m the one third wheeling _their_ relationship.”

Clarke looks around the pool, taking in the sight. She knows it’s a big campus, but there are quite a lot more people than she expected. “Is this everyone?”

Raven shakes her head. “There’s way more on the team, but not everyone shows up every night. Y’know, they got class, club meetings, all that good stuff. There’s always a bit more people at the first practice, but this is a pretty normal group size.

 _Good_ , Clarke thinks. That means she’ll be free to take it easy in the slow lane and slide right under everyone’s radar, no competition required.

“Our favorite fifth year senior is here!” Raven shouts suddenly, and she and Harper run towards a tall boy who just walked out of the men’s locker room. Clarke speed-walks after them as fast as she can - she’ll follow the _‘No running on the pool deck’_ rule ‘till the day she dies, even if no lifeguards are around - and frowns as his features come into focus.

“Wait… _Miller_?”

Miller stops dead in his tracks, one arm still around Raven, and his face breaks into a smile. “Griffin! Long time no see!” he shouts, pulling her into a hug.

Nathan Miller - who everyone just called Miller - was another person Clarke knew at Pine Ridge. He was a few years older than her and he and his family had their own tight-knit group of friends at the Club, so the two were never close, but he was still a familiar face. She remembers him goofing off in the practice lane at meets, eating hot dog buns with just relish and mustard for lunch, and tearfully hugging his dad at his senior night. 

“I heard about your dad. I’m really sorry, Clarke,” he says quietly as he pulls away, and just like that her jovial mood is gone. It feels like someone just punched her in the gut, and she just nods at him.

Raven quickly grabs Miller’s arm and quickly changes the subject. “Where’s Bellamy? He’s running late.”

“Probably still dicking around in the locker room like the responsible coach he is. Emori would totally go in there and physically drag him out if she could.”

“Bellamy and Emori are our coaches.” Harper explains to Clarke. “Emori’s a senior and Bell’s a grad student. They can be kinda intimidating when they want to be, but most of the time they’re chill. Most of the time.” She leans over and whispers, “And Bellamy’s our friend, so he usually goes easy on us.”

“There they are!” Raven points to the gate near the men’s locker room. 

Clarke’s eyes land on a girl who’s dressed in an oversized lifeguard sweatshirt and carrying a clipboard. This must be Emori, she figures. Emori turns around and waves her arm at someone, motioning for them to come follow her, then turns back to give the team an eye-roll and an exasperated sigh.

Then Bellamy walks out. 

He’s tall, with unruly dark curls and a playful grin on his face, wearing only slides and swim trunks. Clarke finds her eyes roaming down his body - from his perfectly sculpted jawline, down his muscular arms, and to his tanned abs.

He’s undeniably hot.

Bellamy walks past Emori, kicks off his slides and throws his backpack to the side, runs to the side of the pool - and does a front flip into the deep end, landing in between the second and third lane lines.

The team erupts in cheers, whooping and hollering as Bellamy re-surfaces, shaking off his now soaking wet curls and lifting his arms victoriously in the air. 

“It’s a tradition,” Raven tells Clarke, "apparently, he's been doing that since he was a sophomore."

Clarke gazes at Bellamy, taking in his wet hair and bulging muscles and cocky smirk, and her heart skips a beat. She’s mesmerized, because he’s _exactly_ her type. She’s hooked up with a few guys that looked vaguely like him, but none of them had perfectly fit the look of the ideal dream guy she had created in her head. Bellamy, though - he’s in a whole other league.

His eyes roam around the deck, taking in his cheering team, until he briefly makes eye contact with Clarke, and she swears she sees him wink at her before he looks away.

Yeah, she’s fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not getting this out earlier, I am *Jean Ralphio voice* the wooOOOORSTTTTT. 
> 
> There's some fancy schmancy swimmer jargon in this chapter, so hopefully this will help you out:  
> \- Sets: For example, 'Ten 50s on the :45' means they have to swim 50 yards (or to the other side of the pool and then back) ten times on a 45 second interval (so the swimmer completes their first 50, and then forty five seconds after they started the first one, they start their next 50)  
> \- 'Fly' is just short for the butterfly stroke  
> \- 'Dolphin kick' is that super fun whippy pelvic thrust movement your legs and hips do while swimming the butterfly
> 
> Enjoy!

Clarke can’t keep her eyes off of Bellamy as he gets out of the pool - soaking wet, _fuck_ \- and makes his way to the coach’s tent near the diving blocks.

She can barely pay attention to anything that Bellamy and Emori say as they give the start-of-season announcements, because Bellamy’s toned abs are on full display. Whatever. She’ll just read the email they said they’ll send out later tonight.

She vaguely registers Emori saying that everyone needs to sign in with either her or Bellamy before they start the practice, and lets Raven pull her into the line that’s started forming in front of Bellamy. 

Bellamy is perched on top of the fold-out table in the front like he owns the place (well, he is the coach, so he kind of does), chatting with a group of guys as they sign his clipboard. _Oh my god_ , she thinks, _I’m gonna have to talk to him_. 

That thought shouldn’t scare her as much as it does. She’s never been one to shy away from making moves on people she finds hot, but this is somehow different. 

_Play it cool, Clarke._

Before she knows it, she and Raven are at the front of the line, and she’s face to face with Bellamy. 

He leans down to give Raven a quick hug and lets Raven introduce her, and then Bellamy’s eyes meet hers. Her stomach twists and turns, and she hopes she’s not actually blushing as hard as she thinks she is.

“Clarke,” he says, giving her the same smirk that he had worn when he front-flipped into the pool and caught her attention, “Nice to meet you.”

She returns his smile and signs the clipboard he’s holding out towards her, and she’s just about to say something witty back to him, but then—

“Wait. Clarke _Griffin_ ? As in, _Jake Griffin_ Griffin?”

She winces at yet another reminder of her father. Bellamy’s looking down at his clipboard in disbelief, then back up to Clarke, gaping, waiting for her to confirm.

She clears her throat, trying desperately to push back her grief. “Yup. I’m his daughter.”

Bellamy’s eyes widen as he looks her up and down, probably searching for some sort of similarity between her and the photos of her father when he was her age that he’s no doubt seen. “No way! He’s a legend around here.” Then, he pauses, eyes narrowing in realization as he remembers. “Or, he _was_ a legend, I guess,” he murmurs.

That past tense _hurts_.

She knows her dad was a big deal in the college swimming community, especially at Polis University - he was, after all, their best swimmer of all time - and news spreads quickly, especially when it comes to the University’s athletic department. She saw the memorial posts the official Polis University Swim & Dive accounts put out, saw the crazy amount of views and likes and retweets said posts garnered. It’s not crazy that people, especially people involved with swimming, remember Jake Griffin and will naturally bring him up. 

That doesn’t make it any less painful, though.

She must have let some of her grief show, because Bellamy is eyeing her, concern plastered on his face. “I’m so sorry about your dad,” he tells her, and she stiffens.

She _knows_ everyone offering her sympathy means well, of course they do, but she doesn’t want to hear it anymore. Nobody’s well wishes and sorries will bring her dad back. All the words have started to feel empty, and they certainly won’t help her.

“I don’t need your pity,” she snaps, then spins on her heel and storms off. 

Raven follows after her, but she brushes her off, muttering that _she’s fine_ and _she just wants to warm up_. 

Maybe she was right. Maybe joining a swim team at her dad’s alma mater, where memories of him were bound to pop up left and right, was a bad idea after all.

But she doesn’t want to give it up - not yet, anyway. She’ll see how this practice goes, and if it ends up being too painful, she’ll just never show up to another practice again.

Logically, she knows she shouldn’t have snapped at Bellamy like that, and part of her feels compelled to go back and apologize. But he’s far from the first person she snapped at for bringing up the topic of her father, and she knows he won’t be the last. It’s a completely normal reaction to grief, she’s read and heard from multiple people, and she’s sure he understands that.

She’ll deal with it later.

She puts on her cap and goggles and makes her way to the leftmost lane, also unofficially known as the slow lane, ignoring the confused looks Raven and Miller shoot her. She slides into the cool water, relishing the refreshing contrast it provides to the outside heat, and starts lazily warming up.

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


“Let’s start off with something easy. Ten 50s on the minute.”

Simple. Back in her glory days, she could swim that in 26 seconds - but nobody needs to know that. She places herself fourth in line behind a girl with a neon swim cap, with five other people behind her, figuring that way she can still take it easy without having to go absurdly slow. 

She waits until Neon passes the backstroke flags and then sinks underwater and streamlines off the wall with textbook technique.

_God, this feels good._

She’s forgotten just how relaxing the feeling of water surrounding her is, and all she can hear is the muffled sound of kicking and splashing. The brain fog that has taken a permanent residence in her head since her father’s death starts to dissipate, if only slightly and just for a few moments, as she flip-turns off the wall for the second part of the lap. 

And then her hand makes contact with Neon’s foot.

Griffins don’t half ass things, her father always used to say, and she supposes this is no different. That competitive spirit, the need to give everything her all without daring to slow down for even a second, will probably never leave her.

The thing is - she actually wants herself to slow down this time. She’s not trying to prove she’s the fastest on the team, or get put in that ever-elusive A-team relay, or even beat her personal record. She’s just trying to deal with everything that’s been going on in her life in a physically and mentally healthy way.

She stalls for a bit, and when she makes it back to the wall, apologizes to Neon and mutters something about forgetting to pace herself. She just has to be more mindful - that’s all.

Except it doesn’t help, because she keeps trailing right behind. By the time they’re finished with the set, she’s managed to move from fourth in line to third, and when the next set is done, the two people left ahead of her have insisted that she go first.

Now that the coast ahead of her is clear, she finds a speed that works for her, and she’s able to enter that coveted headspace again.

But when she comes back to the wall and looks down the lane, the swimmer who was after her is just finishing their flip turn. She looks to the side - the leaders of the fastest lanes on the other side of the pool finished at about the same time as she did, and deep down she _knows_ that’s where she should be instead of in this lane.

She chooses to ignore the weird looks her lane-mates give her once they finish the set - once again, almost trailing a full pool’s length behind her. 

“Nice job everyone. We’ll break for five,” says Emori, setting a timer on her phone.

She’s about to reach for her water bottle when she notices that three of the girls in the lane are staring at her, whispering among themselves, and decides to bite the bullet.

“What?”

One of the girls nudges her friend, who clears her throat. “Um… we just think you’re a little too fast for this lane.”

“Just a little?” Bellamy appears out of nowhere, twirling his whistle in his fingers and cocking his brow at her. If he was offended by her snippy words earlier, it doesn’t show on his face at all. Instead, he looks amused. “Are you trying to show off, or something? You were on their asses the entire time.”

“Yeah,” the Neon pipes up, “no offense, but I’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve touched my feet today.”

Bellamy snorts. “Got a foot fetish, Griffin?”

 _Um, ew?_ She feels the heat rising to her face. “You think you’re funny or something?”

He raises his eyebrow at her again, then points a few lanes down to where Harper and Miller and a few other swimmers she doesn’t recognize are. “Go to lane five where you belong. And don’t grab anyone’s feet on the way there.”

Well, so much for her plan. 

She grudgingly pulls herself out of the pool and makes her way to lane five, Bellamy just a few steps behind.

“I brought you guys a new friend,” he says, gesturing to Harper, Miller, and the others. “She was hiding out in the slow lane, but she’s definitely more your speed. Hope she doesn't give you too much trouble.”

She slides back into the pool and gives Harper and Miller an awkward smile. 

“Why were you in the slow lane?” Miller asks once Bellamy walks off, “I figured you might be a little rusty, but there’s no way you’re that slow now.

She hooks her elbows onto the lane line behind her and shrugs. “I guess I just wanted to take it easy, but I’m Clarke Griffin, so I don’t know how to do that.”

It’s not the end of the world, though. She already feels more relaxed the second she dunks her head underwater and shuts out the sights and sounds of the outside world. She might as well try her best and actually get a good workout.

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


When practice is over, she’s sore. So incredibly sore. She hasn’t worked out like that in forever, and she’s not excited about getting out of bed tomorrow.

But, she feels refreshed. Her mind feels clearer, and she’s actually looking forward to tomorrow’s practice. She’s actually glad that Bellamy made her move out of the slow lane so she could push herself at a good pace.

Raven added her to the group message she and her friends have, and just like that, her phone is blowing up with notifications when she steps out of the shower.

**Raven Reyes:**

_I missed u all so_ _much 🥺_

**Harper McIntyre:**

_I’m sore. Not gonna be_ _able 2 walk tomorrow._

**Monty Green:**

_I can make you even_ _sorer. 😉_

**Miller:**

**🤢🤢🤢**

**Jasper Jordan:**

_Those 50s on the :40_ _killed me. Fuck u Bell_

**Clarke Griffin:**

_LOL_

**Bellamy Blake:**

**😎**

She mutes the chat and puts her phone down for a bit, and she’s about to turn on her nightly Netflix binge when it dings again. 

It’s a single text from the number she just saved as Bellamy’s - a screenshot of her contact in his phone: 

**Clarke Griffin** 🦶

If she rolled her eyes any further back into her head, she’d probably have to get them surgically turned back around.

Part of her thinks she should text something back. Maybe the eye-roll emoji, maybe a simple “ha” or something else to assure him that she’s approachable and that she’s not mad at him for bringing up her dad. And, normally, she’d be happy that a guy who looked like Bellamy was texting her first, but… a foot emoji? Seriously? What is this, middle school?

So, she leaves him on read. Maybe he’ll get the hint to drop that ridiculously bad joke and text her something normal next time.

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


Bellamy doesn’t get the hint, because the first thing she hears when she steps onto the pool deck is his deep voice shouting, “Hey everyone, hide your feet!”

A few people look up at him in confusion, and she hears Neon groan from where she’s laying on the top of the bleachers. Good. At least someone else agrees that he’s not funny.

“Do you usually leave people on read?” he asks as he walks over to her, his tone light despite the exaggerated, almost cartoonish pout on his face.

“No. Only if they text me about my nonexistent foot fetish,” she counters, her eyes glued to his arms. Or, more accurately, the protruding veins on his arms. She follows the veins down to his large hands, and for a split second, she imagines how those hands would feel on her body, running up and down her slides, caressing her bare skin—

 _What the hell?_ She forces herself to snap out of it, shaking her head a little. Bellamy has apparently said something to her that she hasn’t even registered and is clearly waiting for a reaction.

“Sorry, what? I spaced out.”

Ugh, there’s that smirk again. That cocky, asshole smirk that she’s begun to hate, because despite herself she finds it hot.

She’s not supposed to find it hot. She’s supposed to find it annoying.

“I was just saying that I had to ask Miller and Harper if you’d given them any trouble the other day,” he says, nodding at where the pair are standing and talking with Monty and Jasper. “They said no, but I’m not convinced. I saw the way you looked at Miller when you realized you couldn’t keep up with him. You must’ve been so pissed that you couldn’t grab his toes.” He wiggles his eyebrows and she rolls her eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, except she does, because she had been kinda disappointed to see that she had regressed enough to not be able to give Miller a run for his money anymore. Back at Pine Ridge, the coaches used to have them race at the end of practice for fun and bets on whether Clarke, who was three years younger, could beat one of the fastest guys on the team, because feminism or whatever. Even so, she very well may have shown some displeasure about it, but she doubts it was a full-on death glare.

He snorts quietly, shaking his head at her. “Come on, Clarke, you can’t fool me. Miller’s faster than you, for now anyway, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be like that all year long.”

“Give us a butterfly set, and I’ll kick his ass.”

Frankly, she’s surprised that those words even came out of her mouth. The point of joining this team was to relax, after all, not to get all competitive on everyone, and she shouldn’t care about whether she’s out-swimming Miller or not. But again - she’s Clarke Griffin. She has no idea how to be chill about anything.

And, she wants to play Bellamy’s games right back at him, and prove something to him. She doesn’t know what exactly that something is, but she knows it’s gotta wipe that smirk of his right off his face.

“Unfortunately for you, I can’t fit that into today’s sets, but tomorrow? It’s on, Griffin. I’ll be watching.” He chuckles at her, looks her up and down (she doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger on her chest for just a millisecond too long), and walks off to help Emori stack some kickboards.

“I see you and Bellamy are getting along. ” Raven suddenly appears at Clarke’s side. She had been watching the exchange from the bleachers while pulling her long hair into a ponytail and shoveling Sour Cream & Onion Lays into her mouth.

She lets out a sharp laugh because he was right: _It’s on_. “You have no idea."

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


When your team name is the Pine Ridge Paradise Fish, you end up having lots of colorful swimsuits.

That’s how Clarke ends up wearing a rainbow tie-dye patterned one-piece to practice.

In her defense, it was one of the few suits she found that still fits her, and her other suits are still drying from previous practices. It’s not as ugly as it sounds, and she actually used to think it was kind of cute, but now that she’s the only one wearing it, she’s painfully aware that she sticks out like a sore thumb.

Of course, Bellamy has something to say about it.

“Is there a men’s version of that suit? ‘Cause I bet Miller and his boyfriend would love to wear it to Pride.” 

“He already has one, genius,” she replies with an eye roll, “We used to be on the same team, remember? In fact, he has a closet full of rainbow speedos.”

He wasn’t expecting her to have a comeback, judging by the look on his face and how quickly he shuts up. _Ha_. Clarke: 1, Bellamy: 0

“Whatever,” he finally says, “let me know if they ever make one in the bi colors, ‘cause that would be more my style.”

“That makes two of us,” she says, and his mouth snaps shut again.

 _Two for two._ She’ll make it three for three soon.

She hops into her lane and starts to warm up, not even looking back to see Bellamy’s expression.

The practice starts off with Emori calling out some fairly easy freestyle sets, and Clarke still trails just behind Miller, which honestly doesn’t bother her anymore - partly because she’s gotten over it, and partly because she can’t wait to see the expression on Bellamy’s face when he sees her butterfly.

After their water break, Bellamy gives her a pointed look, and she knows it’s time.

“I hope you’re all feeling warmed up, because you’re about to hate me for this next one,” he says, eyes still boring into her. “Give me ten 50s of fly on the :45.”

The air is filled with groans from almost everyone she can see, including Miller and Harper.

Bellamy walks over to their lane and sits himself down on the diving block, ready for the showdown. Miller, completely oblivious to what’s at stake, looks over at Clarke with a question etched on his face, but she just shakes her head. “After you.”

She’s made contact with Miller’s feet five times by the time the first lap is done, smiles to herself as she thinks about how Bellamy must have seen every single time. She won’t even care if he hits her with another foot fetish joke.

“Damn, Clarke, you’ve still got it,” Miller gasps out when she reaches the wall mere milliseconds behind him, motioning for her to go ahead of him.

When the clock passes the 30 second mark, she gladly leads the group off, letting years and years of muscle memory lead her seamlessly through the water .

She finishes her first 50 and looks around, and when she sees the rest of the lane leaders are only now finishing at the wall, she knows it’s official: she’s clearly the fastest butterflyer on the team.

The rest of the set goes the same. Even as everyone else gets exhausted and slows down, Clarke keeps a competitive pace. She knows her technique is perfect, from every flick of her wrists to each powerful dolphin kick.

She keeps going strong until the very end, and then she pulls her goggles up and this time she’s the one giving Bellamy an asshole smirk. “Told you I’d kick his ass.”

_Three for three._

“Ok, Rainbow Road, you win.”

“Rainbow Road? Is that the best you can come up with?” she taunts, leaning back against the lane line. “What, are you gonna add a rainbow emoji to my name to match the foot?”

“That was seriously impressive, Clarke,” Emori joins them, eyes wide with excitement, interrupting whatever (probably bad) comeback was going to come out of Bellamy’s mouth next. “We might actually win some of the women’s fly races at Club Nationals this year.”

“Hear that, Bellamy? I’m gonna win us some National titles,” she tells him with a wink.

_Four for four._

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


The weekend rolls around, and with it, the team’s first social - a beach BBQ.

Clarke’s all for it, honestly. She’s always down for a trip to the beach, especially at this time of year when the weather is scorching and the semester’s full workload hasn’t kicked in yet.

Plus, she knows she can have some fun with Bellamy once he sees her in a bikini.

The beach is packed, and once they finally find parking and she stumbles out of Miller’s Jeep, Clarke spots Bellamy almost instantly by the two tents the team’s set up.

It’s clear that he just got out of the water - he’s soaking wet, _again_ \- and his hair is mussed from the summer breeze. 

He looks absolutely delectable, and it’s not fair.

When he finally notices her, it’s not long before he’s staring at her chest. Not surprising, because she knows she’s been blessed in that department, and the teal bikini she’s wearing has always worked wonders at all the pool parties she’s attended.

She acts unbothered and oblivious, even though she’s feeling incredibly smug. She pays Bellamy no attention as she joins Harper and Raven for some bodysurfing, chats with Miller and Jasper about the first few weeks of school, and spends more than enough time lounging on her towel. 

She figures that if he really likes what he sees, he’ll come to her first.

A few hours later, some of the seniors suggest that they get a volleyball game going, and sure enough, Bellamy insists that she be on his team.

She knows she’ll suck, considering the last time she played anything remotely close to a volleyball game was in middle school gym class. Plus, she’s only 5’5”, and other sports were never even a question - not when swimming was literally in her blood. She tries to tell him that, but he shakes her complaints off and mutters something about her not having to take everything so seriously, which pisses her off a bit but simultaneously ensures that she won’t back out. 

It’s a disaster.

The other team immediately sniffs out that she’s the weak link, and they make sure to direct all their sets and spikes right at her. At one point, a particularly hard-driven spike comes flying at her at full speed, and she barely gets her arm up fast enough to block the ball before it collides with her nose, instead smacking into her wrist hard enough that she knows she’ll have a huge bruise tomorrow.

Bellamy isn’t too happy about it. “Hey, easy!” he shouts at the other team, glaring over the net. “Are you ok?” he asks her, and she’s struck by the genuine concern in his voice.

From that moment, whenever someone aims the ball directly at her, Bellamy jumps in front of her to take the hit instead. She doesn’t even try to argue, because her wrist is still a little sore and she’s already established herself as a terrible volleyball player.

Finally, after what seems like hours, someone declares that it’s the match point. The Griffin spirit chooses this exact moment to make its presence known, and Clarke decides that she must go out with a bang, willing to sacrifice her wrist for her dignity. The serve comes flying in her general direction again, but this time she doesn’t let Bellamy handle it on his own.

“Mine!” she shouts at the same time as he yells “I got it!” and then his body collides with hers and they both come crashing down.

Luckily, the sand is pretty soft, and Bellamy manages to stop himself before his weight has a chance to crush her. 

The game ends, and the opposing team cheers.

Clarke’s propping herself up on her elbows, the sand uncomfortably digging into her skin as she stays in what she can only describe as a crab pose. Bellamy’s arms are on either side of her as he kneels between her slightly spread legs.

He leans closer to her, too close. He’s close enough that she can see the exact shade of brown his eyes are and she can see the freckles peppering his face on full display. He smells like salt and sweat and the sunscreen that he hasn’t completely rubbed in above his left eyebrow.

She sees him lick his lips as his eyes drift downward again, obviously closing in on her cleavage, and Clarke says an internal thank you to all the women in her bloodline for making her win at least one genetic lottery.

“You were right, Griffin. You should stick to swimming,” is all he says.

Then, just like that, the moment is over, and he pulls away and stands up as if nothing just happened. As if he wasn’t just looking at her like some horny teenage boy who just saw his first pair of tits. Nobody around them seemed to notice exactly what had just gone down, except for Raven, who gives her a very pointed look before following everyone else to the tent for dinner.

She sits up and stays in the warm sand for a few minutes, her brain replaying that interaction over and over again until Raven runs over to drag her to the food.

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


The sun begins to set, the temperature quickly dropping. Someone brings out the marshmallows, and Clarke follows the rest of the team to crowd around the bonfire pits and make s’mores.

She toasts her marshmallows in silence, letting them catch on fire (the _correct_ way to toast marshmallows, thank you very much), and barely notices when Bellamy sits down beside her on the long log. 

“I guess I should lay off on my jokes from now on,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. She pauses, marshmallow halfway to her mouth, and he continues. “I just saw how upset you looked after I mentioned your dad, and I felt bad about it, so I wanted to cheer you up, make you laugh a little.”

“Well, no offense, but you’re not funny. Like, at all,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes. “Foot fetish? Really?”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to hurt you or anything like that, I swear. I’ll tone it down.”

He sounds genuinely apologetic which was not what she was going for. “No, I didn’t mean—“

She pauses. What did she mean? She doesn’t even know. That’s what he does to her. Sure, his little jabs were getting pretty annoying, but deep down - she craved the attention. She liked that out of all the people on the team, his sights were set on her.

She sighs. “Look, Bellamy, I’m not mad. Honestly, you may have the most annoying sense of humor out there—”

“I’m flattered.”

“— but I appreciate the effort.”

She sighs, swinging her legs around to face him. “I wasn’t offended, really, and any other time I would have played along. And I’m sorry for snapping at you when you mentioned my dad at the first practice. It’s just that– I feel like I’ve been on edge lately, since he died, and… I don’t know, I–”

“I know. I get it.”

Does he, though? Because she’s pretty positive that nobody gets how she’s felt since that horrible July evening. She considers asking him about it, but decides against it.

“Hey,” he leans over to lightly pat her arm, “I think you’re pretty cool, Clarke. I’m glad Raven convinced you to join.”

“And I still think you’re insufferable,” she retorts, but her tone is playful, which he seems to pick up on.

“Fair,” he laughs. “Now pass me the marshmallows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading & don't hesitate to drop a comment or kudos if you liked it :')

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> I have a ton of other WIPs in the works BUT I actually properly outlined this fic (!!!) and I'm veeeeery enthusiastic about writing it, so I'll try to update fairly quickly.
> 
> As always, feel free to leave a kudos or comment if you liked it! :)


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